


Saving Grace

by Sodalitefully



Series: Guns N Roses AUs :) [4]
Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Badass Slash, Blood and Violence, Duff has a kid, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, there's demons and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodalitefully/pseuds/Sodalitefully
Summary: Two men and a baby meet in a post-apocalyptic hellscape.
Relationships: Duff McKagan/Slash
Series: Guns N Roses AUs :) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014690
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	Saving Grace

**Author's Note:**

> A post-apocalyptic AU inspired by thte DOOM series and the Mad Max universe.

A baby girl, a white picket fence, and a minivan. 

Growing up, Duff always dreamed of having a perfect family like the ones he used to see on TV: He wanted to be the man of the house with a beautiful, loving wife, 2.5 kids, a dog… Of course, as a couch-surfing, punk rock 20-year-old with a criminal record and a drinking problem, he didn’t really think he’d ever actually _live_ that fantasy life. 

He just never thought the reason would be because some so-called scientists decided it was a good idea to open a portal to Hell, unleashing legions of vicious demons that poured out across the surface of Earth and decimated anything in their path. 

The charred picket fence wrapped around a pile of collapsed rubble that was once a cookie-cutter suburban house. Duff had the hood of the rusty van open propped open to scavenge for parts he might be able to use to get his motorbike running again – it crapped out on him completely and left them stranded somewhere in what used to be a suburb of Los Angeles, but now resembled a desertified junkyard. And then the little girl perched on his shoulders looked up across the wasted landscape and shrieked.

Duff responded on instinct; born into a world with real-life monsters lurking around every corner, his baby knew better than to make a loud noise without a good reason. He grabbed her off his shoulders and ducked behind the van, shielding her with his body as he listened closely for danger. 

A muffled roar echoed across the low hills, followed by two more similar sounds and the tremor of collapsing rubble. There were at least three, which might be a good thing: the monsters liked to to fight each other almost as much as they loved hunting humans. On the other hand, Duff had no chance at fighting off three demons if they were discovered. 

A wet, rattling shriek, closer this time. Duff shrugged off the shotgun strapped to his back. And then – A yell, an enraged, _human_ yell that split the thick smoky air with the clarity of a thunderbolt before it drowned under demonic hisses and wails. 

_Holy fuck._

Duff twisted around to peer through the broken window in the van’s passenger door. For the moment the skirmish was just out of sight, around the corner if the plumes of dust and smoke were anything to go by. Duff watched a small explosion take down what was left of a house frame, then a figure with charred, leathery skin and bony protrusions was thrown around the corner and into Duff’s line of sight by a wad of shotgun pellets fired at close range.

The imp was closely followed by a _man,_ an honest-to-god man, not one of the hell-possessed soldiers that may once have been men but were now no more than bloodthirsty drones. The man leapt on top of the dying creature, slammed the stock of his gun into its skull with a sickening crack that Duff could hear from a half a block away, then whirled around on the other two demons that rounded the corner in pursuit. 

Duff was distracted from the melee when he spotted a shadow pass over the sun in the corner of his eye. The gunshot attracted some attention, it seemed, and a flock of flying demons was closing in. Duff trained his barrel on the newcomers, but at this distance it was useless. He spared a glance at the other man: the stranger was running up the street, getting closer to Duff’s hiding place as one of the remaining monsters chased after him. The other lagged behind, looking mangled; the winged creatures swooped down and tore their weakened kin to shreds in a matter of seconds.

Neither the demons nor the slayer seemed to have noticed their hiding place yet, but the walls were closing in on Duff and his charge. He searched frantically for an escape, but every path would expose them. A screech and two crunches in quick succession signified the abrupt termination of the third imp. Duff turned back to the battlefield in the center of the street: he could see a puddle of blood forming under the crumpled corpse, but its killer was nowhere in sight. 

And then a shadow fell over the van, and Duff’s blood turned to ice. When he looked up, he was assaulted by the demon’s blisteringly hot breath as it hovered so close it was practically on top of them. Its body was just a bulbous head, dominated by a gaping mouth infested with so many jagged teeth it could only close halfway. Beady yellow eyes, at least five of them, dotted the top of the beast’s skull; the largest and most central was trained on Duff. 

He pushed the child behind him and aimed his weapon down the demon’s throat, but the shot only knocked it back a few meters. Viscous blood oozed from the pellet holes as it advanced again, stretching its maw grotesquely wide so Duff can easily see the glow of a building attack. He fumbled with the barrel of the gun, struggling to breathe as he reloaded. 

This was it. Duff had encountered demons before, but he’d never been ambushed like this. He would go down fighting, that was certain, but a buried part of him was convinced it was hopeless. He’d failed as a survivor, and more importantly as a _protector._ He’d sworn to do whatever it took to protect the innocent life he had been entrusted with, but now… If he was lucky, the monster’s attack would blow him to bits so his corpse couldn’t be repossessed as a minion of Hell. 

The barrel of the gun snapped back into place but sparks were already escaping the creature’s mouth. Its inhale was accompanied by a rough, wheezing sound… then by a wet thwack as a metallic wedge sprouted from the top of its head. 

The demon wavered, then collapsed. Duff scrambled backwards as the massive corpse slid down the side of the van and landed on its face right where he’d been standing. A hatchet – more like a battle-axe, really, better suited to chopping up demons than firewood – was lodged deep in its skull. The axe’s handle bore a smeared, bloody handprint and it pointed straight at Duff. 

Slowly, Duff’s gaze rose from the bloodstained handle to the person crouched on the other side of the corpse. 

The man who saved their lives stood up and Duff was finally able to get a good look at him. The first thing he noticed was the dark red fluid that cut a streak from his belt buckle to his ear. It almost looked like a wound, like the man had been cleaved in two, then the halves forced together again, but deep wine-color of demonic blood was unmistakable. 

The largest, freshest bloodstain cast a sticky sheen across his heaving chest, with spattered starbursts starting to drip down his belly and smaller globs quickly growing tacky as they clung to the sleeves of his leather jacket. The gash continued up his neck, congealed in the rough stubble on his chin, and crossed the corner of his lip before scattering across his cheek. 

His expression was grim – not quite angry or threatening… It reminded Duff of the heroes in action movies he used to watch as a child, a lifetime ago. He was shorter than Duff, but he held himself like he expected to be challenged at any moment. Sunglasses hid his eyes, his lips were peeling from the sun, and his wild curly hair was restrained in a ponytail. The pockets of his jeans and his jacket were obviously stuffed with ammo for the shotgun on his back and the handguns on his belt, but he didn’t touch those, even as Duff still clutched his own firearm. Instead, he planted a foot on the beast’s back and wrenched the axe free from its skull. 

Duff flinched as the head of the axe swung a foot from his face. A fresh gush of blood formed a puddle at his feet, but Duff was too busy watching the stranger wipe disturbingly jelly-ish matter off what was obviously his favored weapon to notice the warm fluid seeping into the cracked soles of his shoes. Finally, the stranger rested the axe on his shoulder and looked up at Duff with a silent, unreadable expression. 

“Th-Thanks,” Duff forced out. He didn’t take his eyes off the other man as he scooped his whimpering child into his arms and stood up carefully, ready to bolt at the first sign of conflict. 

He’d heard about people like this: wasteland warriors, lone wolves, individuals who took to the collapse of civilization a little too well. Most people left on the planet clung to straggling groups of survivors, cooperating purely out of a desperate need for some semblance of safety and normalcy, but people like the slayer fared better on their own. They took care of Number One, and that made them unpredictable, made them _dangerous._

But then… The stranger _did_ just save their lives.

Maybe that meant that Duff could… well, not trust him, but give him the benefit of the doubt. It was better to make friends than enemies, after all. Maybe the stranger knew where there were other survivors, or where they could find supplies. Maybe he could help fix the bike. Or maybe he would kill them and loot their meager possessions. 

His little girl was relaxed in his arms, assured that the danger had passed. Duff wished he could do the same. 

The stranger studied Duff and his child for a long, tense moment, then tilted his head skeptically. “You two on your own?” 

His voice was gravelly, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. It was also softer and lighter than Duff expected, almost seemed out of place coming from a demon slayer’s lips. He was startled enough that he gave an honest answer without hesitating. 

“Yeah. Just us.“ 

“You got a safe house?” 

“Just the bike. We’re heading south, I heard about a group of survivors near the border.” It had been a huge risk, breaking off from the small group he had traveled down the coast with for almost half a year. But they were barely getting by, and once Duff had a baby to consider he had to find a way to give her a life that was more than just surviving. A large, successful group could provide more stability, more resources, maybe even other children. So off they went on Duff’s junkyard Frankenstein of a motorcycle, speeding south through a barren dust bowl along what used to be I-5. A few days ride, stopping frequently to rest and scavenge and tune up the bike, brought them to LA. Another few would take them to the old US-Mexico border, to a chance at a better life in the twin ruins of San Diego and Tijuana. 

The stranger shook his head. “Fuck that,” he informed them. "They’re all dead.” 

He might as well have ripped the ground from under Duff’s feet, torn open up a pit to Hell and watched him scream as he fell. His stomach dropped, his blood went cold, and he tried to force down the familiar feeling of panic that stared to creep up his spine. His horror must have been obvious because after a beat, the stranger made an awkward attempt at reassuring him: “You’re better off, they had some kind of freaky cult shit going on.” 

Great, so even if they’d been able to find the survivors, they would have ended up drinking demonic Kool-Aid or something. Somehow that didn’t make Duff feel much better. He wondered if maybe the slayer had something to do with their demise – but it didn’t matter now. 

What the fuck was he supposed to do now? They were running out of food and water, they wouldn’t have enough to get back to San Francisco unless they got _really_ lucky scavenging. And Los Angeles was a Hadean fallout zone, an early casualty that had been ravaged by waves demon hordes and picked over by scavenging survivors, so there was little chance of that. Jesus Christ, they didn’t even have a working vehicle. He held his baby tighter against his chest, rubbing comforting circles on her back while he buried his face on her shoulder to hide his despair. 

Politely, the stranger looked away. The hazy orange sunlight glared off his sunglasses as he scanned the horizon. “It’s getting late.” He turned back to Duff. “We should go." 

“W- _We?”_

The slayer ignored Duff’s disbelief. “Leave the bike, it’s a three hour walk and it’ll only slow us down.” He turned his back and started marching towards the setting sun without waiting for Duff’s response. 

Duff gaped at him. It had been too long since someone had freely given them aid without demanding something in return. A safe place to stay the night, maybe even food and drink? It was almost incomprehensible. Not to mention suspicious, but this really wasn’t the time to be looking a gift horse in the mouth. The stranger saved Duff’s ass twice in ten minutes and Duff didn’t even know his name… 

He scrambled to catch up, matching the stranger’s brisk pace with his own long strides. 

“I can’t thank you enough for this, man. I’m Duff.” 

“I’m Slash.” 

_“Slash?”_

“Yep.” 

“…Huh. Nice to meet you, Slash.” Slash gives him a look, and Duff hopes he hasn’t offended him. But Slash just shakes his head and lets out a small huff of a laugh. 

“And the kid?” He asked. 

Duff couldn’t help the adoring grin that lit up his face. “This is _Grace.”_


End file.
